


The Breaking Point

by elizaye



Series: FWB!verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bottom Castiel, M/M, Sexual Content, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An arrangement like this can last only so long before they reach the breaking point, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Breaking Point

Castiel wakes up as soon as the lights in the hallway flick on—he’s always been a light sleeper.

But he feigns sleep, burrowing farther under the covers and snuffling softly.  He hears Dean move quietly into the bedroom, hears the door close with a barely audible click.  He hears Dean stripping down—the soft sound as Dean’s shirt hits the ground, the clanking sound of a belt buckle being undone, the slow downward drag of a zipper.

And then the cover lifts up, and Dean’s crawling in behind him, one hand curling around his bare hip in an extremely familiar way.  Dean shifts forward, pressing their bodies together, and Castiel can’t begin to express just how much he’s missed this, the intimacy of being naked together, just touching.

“Mm,” Castiel murmurs in a voice raspy with sleep.  “You’re late.”

“Sorry, flight got delayed,” Dean mutters back as he plants kisses from Castiel’s shoulder up his neck, to his jaw.  “Were you waiting long?”

“What do you think?” Castiel responds, twisting in Dean’s arms so that he can reach his lips.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Dean says, each apology punctuated with a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips.  “Let me make it up to you.”

“Hmm.  What did you have in mind?”

Dean doesn’t answer verbally, pulling Castiel onto his back and settling over him to kiss him properly.  Smiling into the kiss, Castiel stretches both arms above his head, long and languid, to wake his limbs.  He can definitely get behind this.  As he starts to pull his hands back down, Dean reaches up to pin his arms up.

“God, you have skinny wrists,” Dean mutters, and Castiel realizes that Dean’s holding both his arms up with only one hand.

“Yeah, thanks.  That wasn’t an emasculating comment at all,” Castiel says dryly.

“I didn’t mean it in a _bad_ way.  I think it’s great that I get to pin you so easily.”

Castiel responds to this the only way he can—by proving that he’s not so easy to pin.  He plants both feet firmly on the mattress before surging up with his upper body, simultaneously using his legs to lever Dean over to the side.  Castiel rolls with him, twisting his wrists out of Dean’s grasp and sitting up to straddle Dean’s thighs.

“Easy, hmm?” he says, hands grasping Dean’s arms—one above his head, the other by his side—and pulling them so that they’re resting on the pillow on either side of Dean’s head.

Dean flexes his forearms.  “I could take you down if I really wanted to.”

“Try.”

Dean chuckles.  “How ‘bout I just admit defeat right here, and we get to the main event.”

“Tsk, tsk, Dean.  No patience at all,” Castiel admonishes, and that’s perfect, really.  It’s what he expects from Dean.  Dean’s been out of town for the past twelve nights, and while Castiel doesn’t mind missing out on sex, Dean can hardly stand it.

So Castiel’s sure that Dean’s desperate for it.  And the hard cock jutting up between Dean’s legs certainly doesn’t disabuse him of the notion.  Castiel allows himself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to spend that good forty minutes fingering himself open so that they wouldn’t have to bother with prep when Dean got back.

He leans down and mouths at the bolt of Dean’s jaw, takes his time sucking a mark there.  Dean hums pleasurably and arches beneath him, hips grinding up into Castiel’s.  Castiel releases one of Dean’s hands and snakes his own hand down, wraps it around Dean’s cock and jacks him in slow, unhurried strokes intended to work him into a frenzy.  But Dean merely rolls his hips into the touch slightly, makes no move to speed up Castiel’s pace, and no, he wasn’t expecting this reaction.

“Thought about this, you know,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s ear.

“Mm, yeah,” Dean murmurs, comfortable and content-sounding.

And Castiel’s officially thrown off.  He maintains the slow, teasing rhythm of his strokes on Dean’s cock, but he’s distracted.  Where’s the urgency that he’s been waiting for?

Then Dean’s flipping them over, a predatory gleam in his eye, and Castiel feels relieved, because this is what he knows, what he wants.  Dean’s hand slips down to tease at Castiel’s hole, and when it just gives under his touch, he lets out a low groan.

“Holy fucking shit, Cas.  You just couldn’t wait, could you?” Dean growls, and three fingers shove into Castiel’s ass and thrust several times, unerringly striking his prostate with each pass.  Castiel yelps, can’t hold it back, and he’s grateful that the house is empty but for them.  “ _Fuck_ , yeah.  Been waiting to hear you like this,” Dean rumbles into Castiel’s ear.

Dean’s fingers slide out of him, slippery with the lube leftover from Castiel’s preparation, and then there’s the sound of skin on skin, Dean slicking himself up with the residue on his fingers, and _fuck_ , that’s ridiculously hot.

“Come on, Dean.  Need you inside me,” Castiel murmurs, trying to speed things along.  Maybe he’s been projecting a bit much, and all the desperate _need_ is on his side.

Dean doesn’t keep him waiting—Castiel’s next breath hitches in his throat as Dean breaches him, slides deep into him with one fluid stroke, and they both groan.

“Still so _tight_ , fucking—” Dean holds position, a pleased look on his face, and no, that’s not okay.

“Dean.  Move,” Castiel demands, eyes squeezed shut.

Dean complies more readily than Castiel expected, drawing back and then steadily pressing back in.  He pulls out agonizingly slowly, making Castiel curse every fucking _millimeter_ of his dick, and then drives back in forcefully, pushing Castiel up the bed.  The sound Castiel makes at that is somewhere between a cry and a moan, and he expects Dean to start fucking in earnest, but the next thing he feels is another excruciatingly slow withdraw.

“ _Dean_ ,” he complains, but Dean doesn’t change his pace, and this time he thrusts inward just as slowly as he drew out.

Castiel forces his eyes open, only to see Dean’s face hovering just above his, strikingly green eyes gazing down at him with such fondness that Castiel _has_ to close his eyes again, _has_ to escape.  What… how… how is he supposed to take that?

“Dean, _please_ ,” he grits out, because he needs more force, more speed, needs to change the dynamic between them, because this… this… whatever this is, he can’t take it.

Dean presses a kiss to the his cheek, to the tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and Castiel turns his head to the side, capturing Dean’s lips and forcing his tongue inside, trying to change how this feels, trying to make it quick and dirty so that it’s more like fucking and not so much like _making love_ , and _fuck_ if that isn’t exactly what this feels like to Castiel.

Then Dean’s chuckling, and goddamn it, this is all probably just a joke to him.  He’s probably doing what Castiel had intended to do—hold back, go slow to tease Dean, force him to get all desperate.  Yeah, that’s exactly what Dean would do, exactly what Dean would have in mind.  And it’s stupid to think of this as anything else, but the thought’s already entered his mind, and he can’t help it.

The pace picks up slightly, but it’s nowhere near the reckless, needy drive that usually fuels their sessions together.  This is too slow, too deliberate, and—especially when Castiel peeks between his eyelids to find Dean still watching his face so, so closely—too fucking intimate for Castiel to handle, not within the parameters of their current relationship.

But _Christ_ , it feels amazing, the relaxed, fucking _leisurely_ drag of Dean’s cock along his insides, the perfect aim Dean’s seemed to have since day one, the look in Dean’s eyes, as though he’s really emotionally invested, as if he actually _loves_ —

The thought has Castiel suddenly exploding over both of their bellies, and apparently he was much closer than he’d realized.

And despite the fogginess that orgasm always forces onto his senses, he registers the startled _fuck, Cas_ and the way that Dean’s control snaps, all that coiled tension releasing as Dean finally— _finally_ —takes what he needs.

As they both come down, Dean pulls out of Castiel and shifts to the side, and Castiel turns slightly away, needs to clear his mind.  Because shit, his brain is _stupid_ , and why the hell would he _ever_ put “Dean” and “loves” and “Castiel” in the same thought, even if said thought wasn’t quite finished.  No, he needs to shut that down before it can take root.  Needs to shut it down right fucking _now_.

Especially since it’s cuddle time, and Dean’s gathering Castiel back into his arms, molding his chest to Castiel’s back and tangling their legs together.

“ _God_ , I missed you,” Dean murmurs against the back of Castiel’s neck a few minutes later, after he’s recovered—Castiel can feel the slow and even puffs of breath on his skin.

“Missed you, too,” Castiel replies, a hollowness to his voice that Dean’s hopefully too tired to notice.

Castiel yawns and glances at the clock on the nightstand.  It’s already just past two in the morning, and he’s still got an appointment to look at some pieces of art tomorrow morning, at about seven thirty.  With a sigh, Castiel starts pulling away.  But Dean’s arms tighten around his middle, pulling Castiel back against his chest.

“Don’t go,” Dean mumbles.

“What?”

“Stay the night.”

Castiel feels his heart rate increasing and hopes to god Dean hasn’t noticed.  “Dean, I can’t.  I have an appointment tomorrow morning.  I need to get some rest.”

“Rest here, then.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.  Isn’t this comfortable?”

It’s true that Dean’s bed is a lot more comfortable than Castiel’s, but of course it is—Dean’s family is obscenely wealthy, and Castiel lives in a small apartment on the much more modest side of town.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not this is comfortable, Dean.  I have to go.”

“What the hell, Cas,” Dean grumbles, holding on tighter when Castiel redoubles his efforts to get away.

“Let me go,” Castiel says in a steady voice, stilling and waiting patiently for Dean to give in.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Dean, there are rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

 _“Dean_.”

“No, seriously,” Dean says, lifting himself up onto one elbow so that he can see Castiel’s face.  Castiel contemplates slipping out now, but Dean’s other arm is still in the way, and he doesn’t want to wrestle his way out.  Meanwhile Dean continues, “We made up these shit rules.  If we wanna change them, then what’s there to stop us?”

“I don’t want to change them,” Castiel answers.  Isn’t it enough that he’s at Dean’s beck and call whenever Dean wants a good lay?  He can’t be talked into staying the night and cuddling, not after the stupid stunt his mind just pulled.  It’s hard enough to keep his attraction toward Dean purely physical.  Hell, it’s _impossible_ , but he’s worked so hard to repress and deny, and he isn’t giving it up now.

“What?”

“I don’t want to change our rules,” Castiel says firmly.

“But—”

“Dean, you will not talk me into staying the night.  In fact, I recall that you were the one who suggested this particular rule.”

“But Cas—”

“Why would you want me to stay, Dean?  Answer me this.”

“I…” Dean pauses briefly before saying, “I’m just really comfortable here.  And really tired from the flight.”  And Castiel knows that he wouldn’t hear the reason he wants, but fuck, somehow he’s _still_ disappointed.  “Why can’t you just stay with me?”

“I’m not here to comfort you, Dean.”

“So what, you only want me for my dick?”

“Hasn’t that been the basis of our physical relationship thus far?”

“We’re friends.  You won’t stay over for that?” Dean tries.

Castiel places his hands on the back of Dean’s arm, tugging at it gently.  Dean automatically tightens his hold again.  “Do friends do this?” Castiel says.  “They don’t.”

“Well we’ve been doing this friends with benefits thing for a while, and it’s been working great.”

“Because we’ve been following the rules.”

“Dude!  They’re just a few stupid rules.  Staying with me for one night isn’t going to change anything.”

But it will.  Castiel’s only stayed the night when there was no other choice—when that freak storm was raging—or when Dean was experiencing emotional difficulties and needed the support.  Those times haven’t changed anything between them.

Staying over for something this casual, Castiel knows that things will change.  Just the fact that Dean’s so insistent on him staying the night is waking up all sorts of hopeful thoughts in the back of his mind, and come tomorrow morning, he’s going to hate himself for not wrestling his way out before this discussion began.

“Let me go, Dean.”

“What the hell is your problem?  I’ve been gone for almost two weeks, and you won’t spend a bit of extra time with me?”

“We’ll both be unconscious soon, anyway.  I don’t see why you would need my company,” Castiel says stiffly.

Dean groans.  “Just… Jesus, Cas.  Why is this such a big deal to you?”

The fact that Dean doesn’t know why it’s so important only makes it more important that Castiel leave as soon as he can.  He gives a hard tug on Dean’s arm and is able to pry it away from his torso, having caught Dean by surprise.  But Castiel realizes too late that Dean has a leg pushed forward, between his legs, and it traps his left leg when he tries to get away.

“Fucking— _Cas_ ,” Dean says exasperatedly, rearing up suddenly and shoving Castiel forward.  Castiel ends up face down on the bed, Dean’s weight pinning him down.  “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“You’d keep me here against my will?” Castiel says, ire rising in his chest.  Why is Dean so stupid?  Does he understand nothing?  After so many years of friendship, how can he not see Castiel’s heart?  How can he not see what this does to him?  Even Sam has expressed more concern for Castiel’s emotions than Dean has.

“Don’t say it like that, Cas.”

“I’m saying it like it is.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and Castiel doesn’t even bother struggling.  He knows he won’t be able to get out when Dean’s braced over him like this, caging him in, weighing him down.  He wishes he didn’t love the familiar weight resting on him, wishes this really could be as easy as _just fucking_.

And then Dean slides off him.  “Fine.  Go,” he says, sullen.  “But if you leave, this is over.”

Castiel hesitates for a moment as he slides toward the edge of the king-sized bed, but despite the pain in his chest, this is probably all for the best.  After all, he’s been trying to find a way out of this fucked up relationship, hasn’t he?  This, being dismissed by Dean, is probably the easiest solution, if not the most painless one.

He gets dressed in silence, and he can _feel_ Dean’s angry eyes tracking his movements, _feel_ the frustration rolling off Dean in waves.

At the doorway, he half-turns but doesn’t meet the eyes that are still boring into him.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

He pulls the door shut behind him and hurries out of the house, grateful that there’s no way for him to run into Sam, because his eyes have started tearing up, and the last thing he wants right now is to be _seen_.

The drive home is very quiet, and he feels strangely vacant.

But as soon as he steps into his bedroom back at his apartment, looks at the fading wallpaper and dark blue bedspread under which he and Dean first made—had sex, the enormity of what’s just happened finally hits him.

He won’t ever get to touch Dean again.  Won’t get to hear his name in the low timbres to which Dean’s voice drops whenever he’s aroused.

And knowing Dean’s emotional maturity, they won’t be able to go back to being normal friends again, not after this.  Castiel is sure that he would be able to go back, that he would be able to ignore what happened.  Bury it all under some other memories, only pull it out when he wanted to remember what he used to have.  But not Dean.

He lets himself fall face-first onto the bed and wonders if he should have just stayed the night.

But no, he shouldn’t have.  He… he already has these feelings for Dean, yes, but he needs to recover, protect himself, direct these emotions elsewhere.

It’s about time he got over Dean, over this unhealthy attachment.


End file.
